A Lady of Esteem (9 page)

It took only five minutes for them to explain that Lady Barnstoke was Miranda’s mother, who had remarried the year before.

It took almost an hour for Amelia to relate her story to the curious family. She didn’t know who was more surprised—them at finding out who the ward truly was or her at discovering she was now connected to a duke. It was a step up in society she couldn’t have even dreamt of.

“How did you manage to inherit a viscountcy?” Trent asked.

Griffith shrugged. “The first Duke of Riverton was the second son of the fourth Viscount of Stanford.”

“That must have made family gatherings fun.” Trent grinned.

“They weren’t a very prolific bunch. The viscounts that followed each had one son who married and produced one son of his own.” Griffith shook his head. “A couple of them also had daughters, but they had to trace back nine generations to find another male heir.”

“The Hofferham ball!” Miranda cried.

“What?” Lady Barnstoke set her cup of tea aside gracefully, despite her obvious confusion.

“You can’t still be thinking of going,” Georgina said.

“Of course I am!” Miranda wrapped an arm around Amelia, who sat next to her on the settee. “It is the perfect time to announce Amelia’s new status.”

“But we haven’t unpacked her trunk yet,” Lady Barnstoke said.

“Perfect. Don’t. I insist that she come live at Hawthorne House anyway. The rain has stopped, so we can lug her trunk over there now.” Miranda smiled at everyone in the circle, excitement bursting from her.

“I don’t have a maid,” Amelia said. Not that Miss Ryan had proven to be of much help when it came to dressing Amelia in finery. The hairstyle she’d worn to the opera had taken hours and even then it’d been a bit lopsided.

“Sally can help you. Or Iris. Iris is the upstairs maid. She’s fabulous. If I didn’t have Sally I’d hire Iris in a moment.”

No one could come up with a sufficient objection, so Amelia bundled herself and her trunk into a carriage once more, though with a considerably lighter heart than that morning.

In the whirlwind that only a competent household can accomplish, a room was prepared, her trunk was unpacked, and clothes for the evening pressed. Amelia had barely caught her breath before she found herself in the hall of Hawthorne House, Gibson smiling like a proud papa.

“Now, my dear, do not worry about a thing. You will be marvelous tonight.” Lady Barnstoke, who had insisted on being called Caroline, because there was no place for formality among family, smoothed a piece of Amelia’s hair back. “Doesn’t Amelia look lovely this evening, William?”

Lord Barnstoke, who had married Caroline the year before, smiled at Amelia and then his wife. His daughter was the one whose marriage Amelia had heard about. “That she does, my love, but I think your encouragement is causing more flustering than bolstering.”

Amelia snapped her fan out, moving the air toward her face in an attempt to ward off the impending blush.

Trent, Miranda, Amelia, and Griffith rode in one carriage with Lord Barnstoke and Caroline in a carriage directly behind them.

Miranda talked incessantly about how much fun it was going to be having Amelia around the house. Amelia didn’t say a word. Breathing was about all she was able to manage. After all the ups and downs, the gaining and losing of hope, she was on her way to the ball.

The horses slowed to a stop, jolting her against Miranda. The footman, Gordon, swung the door open and stood stiffly, waiting to assist. He broke form for a moment, glancing sideways into the carriage to wink at Amelia. The wink gave Amelia more confidence than anything Miranda or Caroline or even Griffith could have said.

Amelia stared up at the house, unable to believe she was here. She remembered over the years seeing the glow of houses lit up with so many candles they were visible from the next street. Now she would see what was going on inside with her own eyes. Her heart filled with bubbly happiness. God was good. Even if He’d taken a bizarre route to get her to this place.

Trent gave Miranda his arm and grinned like a mischievous little boy. “I can’t wait to see Anthony’s face.”

The brother and sister trotted off, leaving Amelia to revel in her dream world as she and Griffith waited for Lord and Lady Barnstoke. People streamed by her in a beautiful rainbow of silks and satins. A sudden urge to see if the interior was as awe-inspiring as the exterior released her feet from their invisible prison. She glanced around to find her companions and discovered them a few steps away with small smiles and damp eyes.

“How long have I been standing here?” She hated how her voice trembled, but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“However long you needed.” Griffith offered her his arm and led her into the building.

The noise of the ballroom reached her first, an indistinct swell of voices and music. Amelia’s heart sped up, and her palms began to sweat. Thankful for the gloves, she gripped Griffith’s arm tighter.

The ballroom was like a painting come to life. Beautiful people, beautiful music, and beautiful decorations swirled together in a mass of splendid color.

A small flight of six stairs led down into the ballroom, giving Amelia enough height to see two blond heads cutting a swath through the crowd. Miranda and Trent were making good on their intention to rush to Anthony’s side. Her gaze followed their intended path until she found him dancing. Her overactive imagination made her think she could see the vibrant blue of his eyes.

Seeing him again when she’d thought she never would made her feel funny inside. Her rapidly beating heart rose from her stomach to her throat. She couldn’t breathe anymore but at least she was no longer queasy.

When he’d come by the house, she’d begun to hope his apparent interest was genuine. Surely that would only continue now that her circumstances had changed.

Wouldn’t it?

Anthony wasn’t sure why he had arrived so ridiculously early to Lady Hofferham’s ball. Griffith’s vague note ensuring his attendance had intrigued him, but he doubted the mystery would provide enough distraction from his disappointment over Miranda’s early-morning note telling him Amelia wouldn’t be coming.

He murmured the appropriate pleasantries to his dance partner as he handed her to her mother. She was nice enough, but so were many of the other dozens of women he’s danced with of late.

Perhaps he should return to the country and try again next year. His obsession with the absent Amelia kept him from considering any other candidates. It was insupportable. He had been in her company a scant number of times. Surely it had not been enough to warrant this incessant comparison of every other woman to her.

Miranda and Trent accosted him as he walked away from the young woman whose name he had already forgotten. The beauty of Miranda’s wide smile took him by surprise. Wasn’t she supposed to be nearly as disappointed as he was?

Lady Helena Bell was working her way across the ballroom toward him. There was another problem he could do without. She’d been following him since his first public appearance in London. Miranda told him she was bribing people to tell her where he went each evening so that she could show up as well. Her intentions were embarrassingly obvious, but he wanted no part of them. Why wouldn’t the lady simply go away?

“Hullo!” Miranda called cheerfully, snagging his arm and pulling him back around to face her. Trent stood behind her rocking back and forth on his feet, grinning like an idiot.

“Good evening,” Anthony said cautiously. “Where is Griff? He said he was going to be here.”

“Oh, he is here.” Miranda giggled.

Anthony braced himself. Miranda never giggled.

Trent cleared his throat. “We convinced him to delay his entrance until we found you.”

Anthony began to worry.

Trent’s grin got even wider.

“He has a solution for your doldrums caused by the impossible infatuation you have with Amelia,” Miranda chirped.

“His Grace, the Duke of Riverton, Lord and Lady Barnstoke, and Miss Amelia Stalwood!” the bailiff cried from the doorway.

Anthony’s head snapped to the front of the ballroom. Had he heard correctly? Was Amelia actually here?

A vision in pale rose stood beside Griffith. It was her. Even from this distance, he could see the banked excitement on her face. He could almost feel her pulse race under his fingers, see the blush behind her
ears, threatening to spread charmingly to her cheeks if she became the center of attention.

He pushed past Lady Helena as he crossed to the entrance, ignoring her huff of indignation. Miranda and Trent could deal with his pursuer’s hurt feelings.

His mouth dried as he took in every detail. Her dress was elegant, a ball gown any woman in the room would be proud to wear, yet still quintessentially Amelia in its simplicity. Her brown hair had been piled on her head with a single large ringlet draped over her right shoulder. His fingers itched to bury themselves in that ringlet. It was wide enough to wrap around his wrist. How had she gotten it to do that?

She wasn’t looking at him, was enthralled with everything around her, swiveling her head from side to side in an effort to take everything in as she walked down the stairs. When she finally saw him, her eyes lit from within and pink tinged her cheeks. He had never seen anything lovelier in his life.

“Miss Stalwood.” He bowed over her hand and kissed the knuckles. He’d never despised a glove more in his life. “It is a delight to see you again.”

Two people come up behind him. The rustle of her gown as she bounced in excitement gave Miranda away.

Anthony spared her and Trent a scathing glance before directing his attention back to Amelia. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Neither did I. So much has happened since yesterday, I can’t even begin to understand it all,” Amelia said.

Anthony offered Amelia his arm. Her smile was small and sweet as she laid her hand in the crook of his elbow. Over her head, Anthony caught a glance of Lady Helena glowering in their direction. He shrugged. He had never given her a reason to believe he was interested. It shouldn’t take long for her to move on to some other unsuspecting nobleman.

The evening whirled by in a swirl of colors and sensations. Anthony escorted her straight from the stairs to the dance floor. Terrified that she would forget the steps, she barely managed two words to him. He didn’t seem to mind, giving her an understanding smile as he escorted her back to Caroline.

While she’d been dancing, the news that she was the duke’s new ward had circulated through the ballroom, and a queue of gentlemen awaited her arrival. Introductions and requests to dance arrived with such regularity Amelia began to feel light-headed. Her frequent pleas of breathlessness were not always because she didn’t know the dance being done. Her dancing lesson with Anthony hadn’t been extensive enough for this level of popularity.

After two hours, Caroline allowed Anthony to dance with her again.

“How are you enjoying your first ball?” Anthony led her onto the floor.

Amelia’s hand tingled as she felt the warmth of his arm through her glove. Dancing with Anthony was more exciting than any of her other partners. “I know a lot of the attention is curiosity over the duke’s new ward, but it has still been a wonderful experience.”